The Fungoid Horror in Blackmoor Manor
by Arthur Delapore
Summary: Based on The Curse of Blackmoor Manor. A different, darker retelling, featuring the celebrated Arkham painter Richard Upton Pickman. THE CHILLING CONCLUSION: THE ANIMATE FUNGI OF YUGGOTH. This tale is finished.
1. From Boston, I Believe

Episode One: "From Boston, I believe" 

Note: For any of my previous readers, if you're wondering why I have started a Nancy Drew fanfic, it is simply because I used to write these stories for my little sister, and I simply thought I'd post this one up. It is largely based on the Her Interactive game "The Curse of Blackmoor Manor," so for those readers who aren't familiar with the game, here is the general premise: Nancy is investigating the reason why her friend Linda is shut up in her room; many are under the impression that Linda Penvyllen is turning into a werewolf. Mrs. Drake is the housekeeper, and Nigel Mookerjee who will come later, is a scholar who is visiting Blackmoor Manor. Hope you all enjoy!

Nancy Drew heard a knock on the door of her room. It was the late evening and the shadows were creeping about the house. She opened the door and saw the tall, forbidding figure of Mrs. Drake.

"Miss Drew," she intoned in her sonorous voice. "There is another visitor here at Blackmoor Manor. A Mr. Richard Upton Pickman. Have you heard of him?"

Nancy shook her head. "Who is he?"

"Another American," Mrs. Drake said disapprovingly. "From Boston, I believe. A painter," she added distastefully. "I suppose you'd better come down and meet him."

Nancy followed Mrs. Drake downstairs through the torch-lit hallways reflecting eerily off the granite stone floor. Once they entered the dimly-lit main hallway, Nancy noticed a slight figure leaning against one of the marble pillars.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Pickman?" Nancy asked politely.

The figure turned and she found herself facing a tall, thin, dark-haired young man with a strange smile and cold, ironic eyes.

"Ms. Drew?" he asked in a soft, faintly sardonic voice.

She felt a strange feeling and wondered why. "I heard you are a painter," she said as Mrs. Drake shuffled off. "Why did you decide to come here?"

"Why did you?" he asked, his soft voice a gentle, mocking challenge.

Nancy felt once again that strange feeling. "I was invited here by Linda," she replied.

"I am interested in the history of this castle," Pickman said coolly. "If you will excuse me now, Ms. Drew, I have to go and unpack. Perhaps we can talk again at another time."

His smile was gentle and yet vaguely sinister as he moved away down a hallway. Nancy felt a sudden cold feeling pass over her...


	2. Do You Believe In Ghosts

Episode Two: "Do You Believe In Ghosts?" 

Nancy noticed after Pickman left that there were a few paintings that he had propped up against one of the pillars. She bent down to examine one of them and when she saw it she gasped in horror. For it was a picture of a horrible half man, half-ghoul; a thing of nightmare; a terrible degeneration of all that was human, feasting on something...unnameable. The painting seemed to be set in an old New England cemetery, and Nancy could see a Puritan settlement in the background. She shuddered in revulsion.

"I see that you have found one of my paintings." She turned around to see Richard Upton Pickman standing behind her with a slightly amused smile. "And I see from your face that it had its desired effect."

"Do you -- draw for horror magazines?" she asked finally.

Pickman shook his head. "I am strictly an artist for my own pleasure," he said with a sly smile. "Do you do your detecting for money, or for pleasure also?"

Nancy froze. "How did you know I was a detective?" she asked.

Pickman gave a soft, strange laugh. "Nancy Drew -- Girl Detective?" he said mockingly. "Doesn't everyone know about her?" He bent down to pick up his canvasses, and nodded nonchalantly at her. "Well, I will see you around, Ms. Drew."

He walked off towards the library in the castle, leaving Nancy Drew staring after him in surprise and confusion.

* * *

Nancy wandered towards the greenhouse. She opened the steel door, the faint creaking of the steel hinges echoing through the great hall. Below her, she saw Mrs. Drake watering her plants and humming to them. Through the cobwebbed glass windows of the greenhouse, she could see the foggy moors outside.

"What are you doing up there, dear?" Mrs. Drake asked in her thick British accent.

"Mrs. Drake, I'd like to ask you something," Nancy said, hurrying down the iron staircase. "For one thing, do you know how Mr. Pickman got invited here? Does Linda know him?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Drake said stiffly. "All I know is that I find him quite repulsive."

"Why?" Nancy asked.

"His paintings, of course," Mrs. Drake returned. "Didn't you see them? Quite detestable."

Nancy frowned. "He has real talent. I don't see anything wrong with that."

"But his subject matter is thoroughly revolting," Mrs. Drake muttered. "Let's not speak of it any longer. I know nothing about Mr. Pickman. Talk to Linda about it."

Mrs. Drake commenced singing dementedly to her plants, a signal to Nancy that the conversation was over. Nancy sighed. It was getting late. She decided to head over to the library and find a book to read.

"Dinner will be in a half an hour," Mrs. Drake called.

Nancy headed out of the greenhouse, as the shadows of the evening began to darken the greenhouse...

Nancy entered the library. She saw Nigel behind the laptop, his customary scowl on his face.

"More visitors," he muttered. "Who's next, I wonder? How will I ever get anything done?"

Nancy ignored him and entered the library. Unfortunately, there was little fiction on the shelves as she scanned them.

She noticed Pickman seated next to one of the shelves, an open volume of the Penvyllen family chronicles resting on his lap. He seemed to be reading it very intently. When he noticed Nancy standing nearby, he took his reading glasses off and looked up.

"I'm afraid there isn't much of a fiction section here," he said with a wry smile.

She glanced at the book he was reading. "You seem to be very interested in the Penvyllens," Nancy remarked.

"Interested in them...and interested in their curse," Pickman said thoughtfully. He looked up at Nancy with cold, speculative eyes. "Perhaps that curse has something to do with your being here."

Nancy smiled. "I'm not a ghost hunter."

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Pickman asked.

Nancy paused. "I don't know," she said slowly. "Probably not."

"Ah, well, then I suppose you would dismiss all this curse business as just a bunch of supersitious nonsense," Pickman said, with a strangely amused look. "Though I must say that it is strange that all the Penvyllens disappeared mysteriously."

"All of them?" Nancy said in surprise. "I didn't hear that."

"Oh, yes, it was hushed up pretty well," Pickman leaned back in the chair contentedly. "Sometimes strangers weren't allowed to visit the Penvyllens. But I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for it," he added, with a soft, ironic laugh.

At that moment, Mrs. Drake appeared in the doorway. "Dinner is served," she said stiffly and turned to leave. Pickman stood up, motioning towards the door with a graceful yet sardonic gesture. "After you," he said with a strange smile...


	3. The Man From Arkham

Episode Three: The Man From Arkham

_Note: Thanks, msnancydrew, for being the first to review this story! The title's confusing now, but it'll hopefully make sense later. I have this story all written out, so you're reviews just keep the craziness coming! And here's the next one..._

The dining room was dark with a long table carved out of black wood in the center of the room. Red velvet was draped over the table and crimson candles flickered on it as Nancy sat across from Pickman in front of the assortment of dishes.

"I hope you like the food, Mr. Pickman," Mrs. Drake said. "Of course, I know that being from Boston, you are probably not used to English food."

The comment was meant as an obvious insult, but Pickman merely smiled easily and said nothing. After Mrs. Drake left, Nancy said, "Where are you from? I heard Mrs. Drake say that you are from Boston."

"Well, you just answered your question," Pickman smiled slightly. "I live in Arkham, Massachusetts right now, however. I am a student at the Miskatonic University there."

"And how did you get invited here?" Nancy asked.

Pickman's dark eyes seemed to watch her appraisingly. "I came here to research, much as Mr. Nigel in the library," he said the name with an almost careless sneer.

"Do you not like him?" Nancy asked.

"I try not to think of him at all," Pickman said, studying the polished knife on the table. "It seems that hardly anyone likes me here."

"Well, I don't mind you," Nancy said politely.

Pickman smiled. "Ah, but you're the girl detective. Of course you don't. I might prove to be a valuable suspect, eh? Perhaps even the criminal! I'm too important to scare off!"

Nancy knew he was teasing her, but felt shy and didn't say anything.

"Besides," Pickman continued. "I find Linda's condition rather interesting, don't you? Much like that of the earlier Penvyllens. But, of course, we don't believe in ghosts, do we?" He glanced at Nancy with a playful smirk. "Therefore, there is a natural explanation for her alleged transformation into a monstrous creature. Perhaps something detrimental in the water, eh?"

Mrs. Drake suddenly entered the room. "Do you want me to clear the dishes now?"

"Well, I won't stop you," Pickman said with a careless nod. "I must repay you one day for that wonderful cooking. Perhaps you can come to my home in Arkham and have one of my boiled dinners. I hope you like it, though," he said with an innocent smile; then he said deliberately, "I know you're not used to Arkham cooking."

Mrs. Drake pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Pickman rose from the table; his expression when he looked at Nancy was full of a genuine warmth.

"It was very pleasant to talk to you, Ms. Drew," he said. "I look forward to speaking with you again."

And with that, he left the room. Nancy felt a draft of cold wind rush past her and as she left the dining room and headed up the staircase to her room, she felt an undeniable sense of menace and eldritch fear that she had not noticed before...

As Nancy headed up the staircase, she could feel the darkening shadows surrounding her. She hurried up the staircase, and to her surprise and horror, felt something brush past her legs. She lost her footing on the staircase and felt herself begin to fall backwards.

Suddenly, a hand reached out of the darkness above the staircase and caught her hand in a firm grip and pulled her up. She saw, even though it was very dark, that it was Richard Pickman.

"Thank you," she gasped, still badly frightened.

He smiled down at her terrified face. "You must be more careful next time, my dear," he said in his gentle, softly eerie voice. She noticed that he was still holding her close and looking down at her with a strangely tender expression. And yet somehow there was something in his eyes that made her shudder unconsciously. She noticed for the first time how icily cold his fingers were.

"Thanks again," she said, moving away towards her room.

"Good night, Nancy," he said with a mocking tilt of the head as he headed towards the other end of the hallway and disappeared in the shadows.

As Nancy lay in bed that night, she found herself troubled with vague, shifting, dreams of eldritch horror. She awoke in the middle of the night. Her room was pitch black since the curtains were drawn over the windows, not even allowing the pale moonlight to straggle through. She put a sweater on over her nightgown and quietly tiptoed out of her room, because she felt that she had heard something coming from Linda's room down the hallway.

Hurrying barefoot down the carpeted hallway, Nancy paused at Linda's door. She could hear movements inside; a strange, eerie rustling. From beneath the crack of the door, she could see shadows move as if several people -- or things -- were in the room.

"Linda?" she whispered. "Are you all right?"

At first there was no reply. Then she heard Linda whisper in a strangely coarse, muffled voice, "Get out of here...go on...go---ngrr ygg...cthulhu...fhtagn..."

Nancy felt a chill at these strange garbled words that Linda was muttering. She hurried back to her room, but her sleep was no less troubled. What evil was manifesting itself in Linda and the rest of the Penvyllens?

The next morning, after breakfast, Richard Pickman seemed unusually genial. "How would you like to pose for a picture I'm working on?" he asked Nancy.

Nancy hesitated, then said, "All right. Where should I pose?"

"Well, why not in the great hall?" Pickman asked.

"Sure," Nancy said. Pickman smiled at her and they passed out of the dining room into the spacious great hall.

"Now just sit here on the floor by this pillar," Pickman said as he began sharpening his pencil and carelessly knocking the wood shavings in an inconspicuous corner next to the staircase.

"Now stay very still," he said slowly as he began sketching in a small notebook. "Have you explored the moors around this castle yet?"

"No," Nancy replied. "Mrs. Drake says--"

"Well, who really cares what Mrs. Drake says?" Pickman returned. "We can see the moors around here if we want to. What's the point in coming to Wales if all you see of it is the inside of Blackmoor Manor?"

"Well, can we ask LInda if it's all right?" Nancy asked.

Pickman shrugged. "If it makes you feel better. However, I doubt she'll be in any mood to talk about galivanting through the moors if that gibberish she was muttering last night was any indication."

"You heard that?" Nancy asked.

"My room is right next to hers," Pickman replied. "I couldn't help but hear it."

"What do you -- think of it?" Nancy asked nervously.

"Well, what do you think of it?" Pickman returned, once again a dark challenge flashing in his eyes. "You're the girl detective."

"I -- don't know," Nancy began.

"Hold still -- don't move." Pickman began sketching animatedly. After five minutes of silence, he set the pencil down.

"Well, that was a very good session," he said with a smile. "I hope we can do that again. Now why don't you run up and ask Linda if we can go out on the moors -- if you get an answer out of her."

"All right," Nancy said. As she passed him on her way to the staircase, he caught her wrist, a strange, warm smile on his lips.

"Thank you again for letting me sketch you," he said softly, and then he suddenly held her close and kissed her. Then he said, "Well, you'd better hurry and ask Linda if you can go."

Nancy nodded, too surprised to say anything, and hurried up the stairs as Pickman watched; a quiet, sinister smile playing on his lips.


	4. Footprints

Episode Four: Footprints

_Note: Thanks to Aliya for the encouragement! Glad you're enjoying this story, and here's a new chapter…_

As Nancy Drew reached Linda's room, she heard strange noises inside.

"Linda?" she said softly. "Is it all right if we go out on the moors?"

At first she heard nothing, and then she heard a muffled sobbing and a strange rustling sound. Nancy hurried to her room, combed her hair, and paused to pick the phone up and call Bess and George. To her surprise, she found that the line was dead. She saw that the cord had been cut.

Wondering who could have done this, she hurried back downstairs.

"Richard," she called down to Pickman. "Has your phone line been cut in your room?"

Richard Pickman smiled thinly. "If it has, I don't remember," he replied. "There aren't exactly a whole lot of people hanging on the phone trying to get a hold of me."

Nancy hurried downstairs. "Well, my cord has been cut," she said.

"Did Linda say we had her permission to go to the moors?" Pickman asked mockingly.

"I think her condition is getting worse," Nancy whispered. "I don't know why Mrs. Drake doesn't call a doctor."

"Perhaps it's because a doctor wouldn't be any help," Pickman suggested with a ghastly smile. "For what she's got."

"Which is...?" Nancy returned.

"You're the detective," he said coldly. "Figure it out yourself." He smiled a little icily. "Now if you're game, we can go to the moors."

Nancy shrugged. "All right."

Pickman took her hand and led her out the front door of the manor. The sky was a swirling chaos of greyish yellow clouds churning restlessly above them. The wind whipped the grass around them so that it seemed to toss like the waves of an unsteady sea. Nancy tripped a bit on the soggy, marshy turf of the moors, and Pickman steadied her and pressed her forward.

"Look," he said softly, pointing at a jagged patch of ground in front of them. Nancy saw a strange mark indented in the earth...much like that of a giant claw mark. But this mark could not have been made by any sort of beast of Blackmoor. It was much too large, and the smell that emanated from the clawprint was that of decaying fungus.

As Nancy stared at the mysterious imprint and inhaled the eldritch, rotting, fungus odor emanating from it, she felt herself fainting...

* * *

Slowly sensation returned to the unconscious young woman. She began awakening and found herself lying in her bed. She felt a cold hand holding her wrist, and she opened her eyes to see Pickman sitting beside her.

"So you're finally awake," he smiled strangely. "Why did you faint back there?"

"I don't know," Nancy replied. Her head hurt horribly, and the hideous memory of what she had seen on the moors was still fresh in her mind. "What was that?" she whispered.

"A footprint, I expect," Pickman was smirking, a little disturbingly. "Are you beginning to revise your opinion on curses."

"No." Nancy said shortly. "I still don't believe in them. And the only ghost around here, Pickman, is you."

Pickman's smile took on a different cast; a more sinister one. "And I suppose I planted that footprint there myself, eh?" he said, his voice a gently mockery.

Nancy wanted to say that yes, that was what she believed, but she couldn't reply. She felt when she met his cold, wistful eyes, a strange attraction. For a moment, she tried to turn away so that she wouldn't betray her feelings, but the next moment she felt herself pulled towards the artist and they were kissing passionately.

After a moment, Nancy stood up abruptly. "I -- have to go see Linda and make sure she's all right," she said, avoiding his eyes. But as she hurried out of the room, she could feel him watching her.

* * *

At the same time, as she entered the hallway, she felt a strange feeling: as if alien, otherworldly beings were watching her; not ghosts...things that weren't even human. She shook her head. Where did she get these ideas?

The next moment, she stood motionless and pale, staring at the marble floor of the hallway. For in front of her was another reeking clawprint -- like the one she had seen on the wind-tossed moor!...

Nancy did not fall unconscious this time when she saw the hideous imprint of the unknown beast. This time she kept her head. She noticed that the prints extended down the hallway towards Pickman's room. Immediately, she followed them. She was about to enter Pickman's room when she noticed a shadow pass ahead of her down the hallway. She looked up and her heart froze -- for she saw a cloaked, shadowy figure in front of her.

"Who are you?" she called out, her voice shaking slightly. The figure turned, and to her horror she saw the pale face of a young woman. She noticed that a burnt smell seemed to hang over her -- the smell of the stake, the smell of the execution pyre.

Though frightened, Nancy reached forward to seize the specter's cloak, but the cloth passed between her fingers and when she looked up she saw that the woman had disappeared.

The burnt smell still hung fresh in the unnaturally cold air...


	5. Extradimensional Terror

Episode Five: Extra-Dimensional Terror

Nancy forced herself to remain calm after this encounter with what clearly seemed to be a ghost. She could not think of any way a human could have disappeared so quickly. However, she decided not to rule that possibility out so quickly either.

The charred, burnt smell still lingered in the air, but Nancy decided to continue her investigation of the eldritch clawprints that seemed to be leading down the hallway to Pickman's room. She glanced behind her. There was no one there, so she decided it couldn't hurt to take a look and see whether there was anything there.

She pushed open the door to his room, for it already hung ajar. She immediately froze with horror; for hung on the walls and propped against chairs, were more of Richard Upton Pickman's hideous canvasses...more of those awful portrayals of ghouls feasting and delirious churchyard scenes of cosmic, alien horrors from black, nightless planets.

She noticed a thick, ancient volume lying on the bed in his room. Just as she was about to advance towards it, she heard Mrs. Drake behind her.

"Ms. Drew, can I speak with you for a moment?" Mrs. Drake asked. Her face looked particularly grim.

"Yes, what is it?" Nancy asked, stepping away from Pickman's room.

"Nigel has disappeared," Mrs. Drake said, her face emotionless, but her tone betraying an underlying fear.

"Call the police," Nancy suggested.

"All the phone lines have been cut," Mrs. Drake replied. "And Nigel's laptop has disappeared, so we cannot even e-mail for help."

"Isn't there a car here?" Nancy asked.

"No, we usually phone for a cab when we need to go out," Mrs. Drake replied. "The manor is ten miles from the nearest village and the weatherman said that it would be impossible for anyone to go out in this weather. A terrible storm is about to descend. Besides," she added. "He is still in this castle."

"How do you know?" Nancy asked.

"Because I have special surveillance cameras all over the castle," Mrs. Drake smiled a little through her grimness. "A precaution I took after Mrs. Penvyllen's illness. At any rate, he is not shown leaving the castle, so he is still here. I just thought I would tell you."

She moved away, but Nancy's mind was in further turmoil. For now she realized that they were all trapped in the castle -- possibly with a thing not of this world lurking the hallways!...

* * *

After Mrs. Drake left, Nancy heard Pickman say behind her, "So we're all trapped here in the castle, eh? This is getting better and better."

Nancy turned to him, frowning. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

Pickman's smile was sly and ambivalent. "Think of it: old crumbling manor -- complete with an old crumbling curse, a lady turning into a werewolf, or perhaps something worse," he smirked playfully. "And, of course, the forbidding housekeeper." He breathed a sigh of contentedness. "Why, this place fairly reeks of the very atmosphere I try to capture in my paintings!"

"I saw some of your paintings in your room just now," Nancy said. "There were footprints that led to it." She watched him closely to see his reaction, but he merely smiled calmly.

"How interesting. Did you like them?" he asked coolly.

"They were frightening," she admitted. "You definitely have a knack for capturing...something. Where do you get your ideas?"

To her surprise, Pickman laughed: a soft laugh laced with black irony. After he had finished, he said mysteriously, "Here and there."

Nancy shrugged. "Well, we're stuck here. And Nigel has disappeared."

Pickman looked surprised. "Hmm," he said. "Perhaps he fell down a bottomless abyss. How unfortunate."

Nancy sighed. The artist didn't seem to be taking anything she was saying seriously. "Look, when was the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"Oh, probably last night," he replied. "When I was in the library. He was on his laptop I believe, casting furtive glances in my direction every once in a while. I don't think he liked my being there," he added with a malevolent smile.

"Well, I'll get to the bottom of this somehow," Nancy murmured. "It all must be in connection with Linda's illness...somehow."

"Oh, yes, please do find out what is happening soon, dear Miss Drew," Pickman said with a mocking air of gravity. "Our lives are in your hands, you know. If you don't discover what's going on, who can tell what poor unfortunate will vanish into interdimensional space next?"

* * *

After Pickman retired back to his room to continue his painting, Nancy decided to do a bit sleuthing herself. What with Nigel's disappearance, the phone line's being cut, and Linda's increasing illness, drastic steps certainly had to be taken.

Nancy was prepared to take these steps. She headed down to the greenhouse first to check and see what Mrs. Drake was doing. She carefully descended the steel staircase, trying not to let the rusty hinges creak too loudly.

To her amazement, she saw the elderly housekeeper bending in front of the fountain in the greenhouse. She was muttering strange, unintelligible words. "Cthulhu...ia! ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!" she murmured. "Descend on the Penvyllens as you did of old. Yog-Sothoth hear me!"

Nancy drew her breath in sharply. What was Mrs. Drake doing? She hastened out of the greenhouse and headed up to Linda's room to see if she was all right.

"Linda?" she whispered as she knocked on the door. "Can you hear me?"

There was no reply, just a muffled sound like sobbing. Nancy decided that she had to find out whether Linda was all right or whether something dreadful had happened. With one wrench she twisted the doorknob open.

The bedroom was dark. Nancy heard a gasp coming from the bed; the curtains were drawn completely.

"Get out of here, Nancy!" Linda whispered. "Get out now!"

Nancy hesitated. Should she leave? In a moment she chose another course of action. She ripped aside the curtain.

What met her eyes was a rotting, ghoul-like thing with disturbingly canine yet human features. It leered up at Nancy with a monster's grin but with Linda's tortured eyes.

"Nancy, get out of here if you know what's good for you," it growled, and Nancy ran out of the room.

She could not understand what was going on. It seemed as if all her ideas were being shattered. Was the curse real? It looked as though it was, and Nancy could not erase the look on Linda's eyes of despair and fear. Did Mrs. Drake have something to do with it?

Nancy hurried down the hallway and raced towards the greenhouse. She cautiously opened the door and peered down. She saw no sign of Mrs. Drake through the shadowed greenery. But then she noticed something -- something round resting on a statue that had been placed in the middle of the greenhouse. It was a statue of a tentacled thing -- an alien horror, that could come only from a world beyond our own dimension.

But Nancy did not notice it. She was staring at the thing resting on the statue - - staring with a growing horror and fear.

It was the head of Nigel Mookerjee...


	6. Songbook for the Unspeakable

Episode Six: Songbook for the Unspeakable

_Note: First off, thanks to everyone for reviewing this story! I'm glad you all are enjoying it so much! I actually was thinking of writing just this one Nancy Drew story, but if this one continues to be so popular, I may write more! And here's the next chapter..._

Nancy raced out of the greenhouse as quickly and quietly as she could, her heart racing as she ran back into the darkened hallway. She suddenly felt an icy grip on her wrist and felt herself being pulled back into the shadows.

"Who is it?" she whispered, hardly breathing.

"A wandering shade," Pickman replied with a ghastly smile. "It's just me. What is it?"

"In the greenhouse -- Nigel -- someone killed him!" Nancy gasped, collapsing from sheer fright against him. He held her tightly, but when she looked up into his eyes for reassurance she saw only a dark, coldly ironic look with a hint of a quiet wistfulness.

"What are we going to do?" Nancy asked, shuddering. "Do you know what is going on? Those pictures you drew -- they look something like the creature that poor Linda is turning into! And Yog-Sothoth...Cthulhu...those words that Mrs. Drake said...what do they mean? Do you know?"

Pickman nodded slowly, a grim smile on his face. "Oh, yes. I know all about them. Come with me, my dear...and I'll tell you..."

Nancy felt a cold fear growing within her when she heard Pickman's words, but she numbly followed him up the staircase, down the hallway past Linda's room to his own room. Once inside, Pickman closed the door and locked it; a gesture that filled Nancy with apprehensiveness.

Pickman paused to light an oil lamp on a nighttable in his room and then lifted the heavy, leatherbound book off his bed -- the one that Nancy had noticed before.

"What is that?" Nancy asked.

"The 'Liber Cantuum Infandi'," he replied. "The Songbook for the Unspeakable." His smile was wistful and delicate in the flickering light. "It's a collection of songs that act as spells to summon...various things."

"Such as what?" Nancy asked. "And what does this have to do with -- "

"It has a lot to do with them," Pickman interjected softly. "If you'll let me finish. You see, there once were...creatures...who lived on this planet. But they were driven out somehow because of their occult practices. But they're on the outside -- underneath the sea, on distant planets -- waiting to take over again. Cthulhu and Yog-Sothoth are some of those beings, called the Old Ones."

Nancy shuddered. "And all this is real?"

"Yes, it's all real," Pickman said, and there seemed to be a wistfulness underneath his mocking tone. "And they're the ones who have made that curse come true, transforming poor Linda into a ghoul."

"And Mrs. Drake killed Nigel?" Nancy asked.

Pickman smiled strangely. "Nigel? Who ever said he was dead?"

"But I saw --" Nancy began.

"I know what you saw, but he is quite alive, my dear," Pickman replied.

"But--" Nancy began again, but then she stopped, for she heard soft footsteps outside the door. Slowly the doorknob turned and the door swung open. A cloaked figure stood framed in the doorway.

Pickman stood up and the figure advanced into the room until it stood in front of the oil lamp. Then it drew its hood back and Nancy saw a young woman with flowing golden hair and green eyes. She put her arms around Pickman and kissed him.

There was a distant rumbling -- but it wasn't thunder. The young woman turned to look at Nancy, her green eyes flashing eerily.

"They're coming," she whispered.

The woman in the cloak released Pickman and turned to Nancy, a cruel smile distorting her face.

"Well, well," she said. "Nancy Drew. I suppose you believe in curses now, don't you? Well, it's too late to save you. The same thing that happened to Nigel Mookerjee will happen to you too." She drew from the folds of her cloak -- a silver, polished cylinder...

"In this container is Nigel's brain," the woman continued. "It is alive. We will send it to the planet Yuggoth to study further -- but you," her eyes narrowed like a cat's. "You will be the sacrifice to Yog-Sothoth as payment for working against us. Richard," she turned to Pickman. "Take her down to the greenhouse."

Pickman looked back at the woman with a calm look of black defiance. "Why should I?" he asked, his voice quiet and cold. "I don't have any loyalty to you or your kind."

"You fool," the woman hissed. "We're more powerful than the rest. Look at how those foolish humans tried to burn me, and yet here I am! And yet you try to stand against us?" Her face was white. "For this, you must be punished."

Pickman's smile twisted into a sneer of black amusement. "Oh, well, then do your worst," he said with a calm hopelessness.

"Richard..." the witch's voice was soft and imploring. "You helped us before. What's wrong with you? Is it because of this fool?" she cast a look at Nancy.

"I never helped you or the Old Ones," Pickman said coldly. "You only thought I did."

"I would have thought that you would help us -- out of loyalty to me," the witch spat.

"Why should I have any loyalty to you?" Pickman shot back. "All you do is destroy what's good or deform it. That's what you've done to Linda, isn't it?"

The witch seized Pickman in an unnaturally powerful grip. "So this is what you choose? To betray us?" Her fingers twisted in his hair, holding him back against the wall. She began murmuring strange words and phrases in another language, a primal tongue not known in this world. His face turned pale and when she released him, he fell unconscious on the floor. She looked down on him with contempt.

"And to think I actually loved you once," she murmured. Then she turned to Nancy, and a cruel smile was on her lips...


	7. The Animate Fungi of Yuggoth

Episode Seven: The Animate Fungi of Yuggoth 

_Note: Glad you all are enjoying it so much! Here is the chilling conclusion...

* * *

Mrs. Drake appeared in the doorway._

"Richard has betrayed us," the witch said. "You take her. We'll bring them both down to Them."

Mrs. Drake seized Nancy by the shoulder's. She was stronger than Nancy had expected. She pulled the young woman out of the room. In the meantime, Pickman slowly began to awaken. His dark hair was ruffled and his eyes flashed with a strange, ghastly look.

"You take him," Mrs. Drake said to the witch.

"Oh, yes, take us both to the Old Ones," Pickman's high, soft voice broke into weird, insane laughter. "What an honor. Thank you, my dear, I never thought I was worthy of it," he said to the witch. "To be feasted on by the animate fungi of Yuggoth...how often has a mortal been chosen for that purpose, ha ha!" He laughed as if he couldn't stop. The witch and Mrs. Drake looked at each other with expressions of confusion.

"Come on, let's get out of here," the witch said, seizing Pickman roughly and pulling him out of the room. He didn't even struggle.

"Oh, yes, don't let's keep them waiting," Pickman said gaily. "Come, Nancy, don't look so unhappy. It won't hurt -- for long!" His words dissolved into dreadful laughter...

They were both dragged on down to the greenhouse. The plants seemed to be writhing and twisting with eagerness. And in place of that hideous statue -- was a hideous writhing tentacled thing -- almost like an octopus except without a head. Mrs. Drake and the witch bowed to the thing, and Mrs Drake said:

"Here, oh, Yog-Sothoth, are two mortals as your recompense. Take them both to do as you wish."

"May I interrupt?" Pickman interjected. "Would it be possible if I might have a match for a moment? Just before I am devoured by the great Yog-Sothoth."

The witch shrugged impatiently and handed him a couple of matches. But Nancy stared in surprise, for she remembered Pickman having mentioned that he didn't smoke. As she watched in confusion, he pressed one of the matches in her hand. Then he put his hand in the pocket of his coat.

"Hurry up," the witch snapped. "We don't have all day."

Pickman suddenly looked at her and his face was alight with a look of despair transformed into a strange triumph. "How right you are," he said quietly. And with a swift motion, he took out of his pocket a metal cross.

The tentacled horror seemed to recoil at the sight of the cross and quickly Pickman lit the match and made the sign of the cross with it. Nancy did the same with hers, and as they did a furious gale seemed to start outside the greenhouse, causing the window panes to shatter and the plants to wave their leafy branches as though they had a life of their own. The tentacled thing seemed to vanish, and in its place was a swirling void and then nothing. But the gale increased...

As Nancy watched in growing fear, the gale increased and the stones of the manor began crumbling and falling around them. Nancy saw a huge, granite flagstone lying on the place where Mrs. Drake and the witch had stood. She also saw a shiny cylinder on the floor -- the one with Nigel's brain.

Instantly, Pickman seized the cylinder, grasped Nancy's wrist, and they both ran out of the greenhouse.

"We have to save Linda," Nancy gasped.

Pickman nodded. "I'll go get her. You save the little girl."

As Pickman and Nancy hurried up stairs, Nancy noticed that somehow the great hall and caught on fire -- perhaps some sort of vengeance that the Old Ones were wreaking on them, to destroy them. She had to hurry...

Running into Linda's daughter's room, she found the child sobbing in her bed. Quickly, Nancy grasped her hand and ran with her out of the room and through the great hall towards the front door. Stones fell around them and the hungry fire roared behind them as Nancy threw the front door open and ran out onto the safety of the moors. She saw Pickman behind her with Linda. To her surprise, Linda looked like she had before -- no longer like a ghoul.

"The curse is gone," Pickman explained as Nancy stared in surprise. "The Old Ones have left Blackmoor Manor, for the time being. Now will you give me a moment in that shed over there?" He pointed to the shed in the distance on the moors that was only used as a storage center.

Nancy looked surprised but nodded. After Pickman left, Nancy, Linda, and Linda's daughter watched as the flames devoured the mansion and the rest of the stones had hurtled to oblivion on the swampy moors.

"I still don't know what really happened," Linda murmured.

"Neither do I," Nancy replied. After a half hour, Pickman returned, and to Nancy's surprise...Nigel Mookerjee was with him, too!

"You're -- you're brain was taken out of your body!" Nancy gasped.

"I did a little brain surgery on him," Pickman said with his customarily odd smile. "Fortunately, they had his body stored in there as I expected, so it wasn't too hard to put his brain back in."

"I suppose I owe it all to this fellow," Nigel sniffed but looked grateful. "Well, this is the end of Blackmoor Manor, eh?"

Nancy wasn't really listening to Nigel, however. She watched as the fire died down and left nothing but the bare foundation of the house. Pickman lay back on the mossy turf, watching the last of the embers die, as a light rain began to fall on the ruins of Blackmoor Manor.

THE END

_A word from the author:_

_So what did you all think of it? Please write reviews and let me know! I'm thinking of writing another Nancy Drew mystery as well, since this one was so unexpectedly popular, so you're suggestions and praise are definitely wanted! By the way, for any who were interested in where I got the idea for these weird, tentacled monstrosities...I unreservedly refer you to the tales of the great horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. If youdon't know him, then I'd advise you to run over to the library and get aquainted with him as soon as possible. And Richard Upton Pickman, who hails from that creepy little New England town called Arkham? He's from Lovecraft's story "Pickman's Model", which you canfind off the Interneton just about any search engine.Creepy stuff, but wonderful -- and no gory details at all! Just a good, old-fashioned tale of terror.  
Finally...(I know this is a long conclusion), if any of you are really aching to read more of this sort of thing, then I have actually written a story or two set in Arkham -- featuring more of this sort of extra-dimensional, sorcerial terror! "From Gotham to Dunwich" is what it's called, and read it if you're interested! Also, I have a story called "That Touch of Puritan" (crazy title, crazier plot), which, though it begins rather romantically, swiftly turns into another Lovecraftian tale of weird terrors. _

_Once again, thanks to everyone -- msnancydrew, Aliyah, katie janeway, andDanny Hawk -- for keeping up with this story, and I hope you enjoy my other tales as well._

_Gravely yours,  
Arthur Delapore_


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